Hermione
by just-another-writer20
Summary: A story of how Hermione came to discover that she was a witch, and her life before Hogwarts.
1. Prologue - I Can't Help It

Why does no one ever understand that I simply can't help being smart?

Well, with a mother who has biology and maths PhDs and a father who was moved into a GCSE class at the age of eleven, I couldn't not be, could I?

When I was four, I'd started nursery class – which was just learning to make friends and sing cute little songs and maybe learn the alphabet. So my parents started to teach me how to read and write and add at home. It was all easy for me. I was so much further ahead of my classmates.

No one really cared until year 3 because before no one really understood that I was smarter and I didn't realise it either. Year 3 was when my friends stopped liking me. They saw that I was cleverer than them, and it made them hate me. Every time I answered a question, everyone would imitate my "posh" way of speaking (my parents had told me very sternly to speak proper English) or laugh. What made it worse was the fact that I just couldn't do sports, so I was always picked last for any team.

It started to upset me. I became more and more isolated – while everyone else was playing football at break, I'd be sat alone reading an Agatha Christie book. Some girls in my class tried to make friends with me a couple of times, but I'd spent so long without friends that I simply didn't know how to have fun and act my age. They said I was being rude and that if I didn't want any friends, that was fine by them.

But there were other things that made me different. Not my cleverness, but... something else.


	2. I Don't Know What Happens Next

**14** **th** **May 1991, Kingston Primary School, Lunch break**

"Oh, look, here comes Little Miss I'm-too-smart-for-everyone-else!"

"Little Miss perfect!"

"Little Miss boring!"

"Little Miss can't kick a ball in the right direction without falling over!"

That last one got a big laugh. The usual taunting. I'm used to it now. Maybe it'll be different at the all-girls private school I'm going to next year. Maybe I'll have some intellectual equals, and I might even be able to make friends. To start again. I'd like that.

I sit down on a bench which is almost hidden by the bushes and the big old tree. I like it here, because when I'm almost hidden, people don't pay me much attention. I get out my book (A British History) and start to read.

A group of kids in my class are playing football not far from where I'm sitting. After about five minutes, the ball comes flying over in my direction and lands a few feet away from me. I can't be bothered to kick it back, so I just carry on reading.

Big mistake.

A gang of bullies come to get the ball. And tease me. Just a normal day's work.

"What's wrong, Granger, too chicken to kick a ball?" shouts David Jones, one of the ringleaders.

"Well, I would be if I couldn't even do that – I'm surprised she still shows her face!" cries Zoe Baxter, another ringleader.

 _Don't look up... just ignore them, you've done it enough before._

"OI! ARE YOU DEAF, GRANGER?"

"Oh, get a life!" I say, finally losing patience, though I still don't look up from my book.

"By reading history books? Wow, you're the saddest geek I've ever seen!" Zoe grabs my book and throws it to David, who starts to tear the pages.

"GIVE THAT BACK!"

I surprise everyone by screaming at them, including myself. I know I've gone red in the face, but it's not the usual red, like when I'm trying to stop myself from crying. It's an angry red. Blood pounds in my ears.

And then I'm not really sure what happens next.


	3. It's Over As Suddenly As It Has Begun

The pages move as if caught by a strong gust of wind, flying out of David's hands. They swirl around in the air, and slowly but surely, the book puts itself back together, the cover slotting into place with ease. It seems to glisten, as if some heavenly glow were shining upon it. The other kids watch, completely bewildered, some shouting in confusion and fear. I am rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak. I have no idea what's happening. But I still have that same feeling of anger that I had at the bullies for tearing my book apart.

Suddenly, just when I think nothing stranger could possibly happen, it does.

Figures begin to appear out of the book. Not just any figures - I recognise them from the illustrations and portraits in my book. They're all historical figures, all mentioned somewhere in A British History. There's hundreds of them - kings, queens, princes, princesses, knights, guards... All sorts. They climb out of the pages, some on horseback, some brandishing weapons, and stand in front of the bullies, all with a malicious look on their faces.

"What the hell?!" shrieks Zoe, terror flashing in her piercing green eyes. "What are you doing Granger? Just tell us, you freak!"

Before I can say anything, one of the ghostly figures - I think it's a woman, a queen of some era, riding a white stallion - charges towards Zoe. She yelps in fear, running as fast as her legs can carry her. The other ghosts let out a loud battle cry; they split into groups of about four or five, pick a bully, and begin to chase them. Chaos erupts in the playground.

I take cover behind a tree, scared out of my wits. The woman on the white horse takes a break from chasing Zoe and comes towards me. I peep out from behind the bark and see her long golden dress and feathered hat, and then I realise. She's Elizabeth I.

"We won't hurt you," she says, smiling down at me kindly.

"But... what am I... how is this... what are you doing to them?" I stutter.

"We won't hurt them. We'll just have a bit of fun with them, shall we? Show them what it's like to be laughed at," the Queen smirks before charging after Zoe again.

I watch as my childhood bullies run around the playground, desperately trying to get away from the ghosts. They look ridiculous - David has tripped over his own feet and is now trying to scramble back up; Zoe is screaming like a baby, begging for mercy. In spite of myself, I begin to laugh.

Then something else dawns on me. I am the one who's making this happen. Somehow, subconsciously, I am the person doing all of this.

The first thought I have is that this is just a dream. That's the only logical explanation; that it's all just a bizarre and complicated dream. But deep down, I know it's not - it feels too real to be merely a figment of my narrow imagination.

"I think that that will be enough, gentlemen. They have learnt their lesson!" Elizabeth shouts after a few minutes. She canters back over to the book on her horse, gives me a quick nod, and then disappears into the pages. The others follow. Once they have all gone, the book shuts and falls to the ground, and it is over as suddenly as it had begun.


	4. Magic?

I am unable to comprehend what's just happened. I'm usually the one with a clear head, but it's as if my brain has turned to mush, all logic gone. And if I can't think logically, what can I do? It's how I deal with situations and figure things out. It keeps me sane.

Coming out from behind the tree, I look around the playground; the other students are slowly getting to their feet, baffled looks on each and every one of their faces. Some still look terrified, Zoe in particular. She stares at me like a rabbit caught in head lights, eyes wide, mouth half hanging open with shock. A lot of people are watching the book fearfully, which lies on the ground looking completely normal, like nothing ever happened.

Before I know it, chaos has erupted again. Almost everyone is shouting, wanting to know what the heck happened, how it happened... I couldn't give them an answer, not that they're asking me.

Literally, I have no idea how I did that. Or why it happened. I know that you can think things subconsciously, at the very back of your mind, but I didn't think that you could actually make things happen without knowing it. All I know, for sure, is that it was me.

Although, this isn't exactly the first time something like this has happened. Recently, small things have taken place that didn't seem quite right - like the time David broke my pen in class and the next second, it had fixed itself. And the time I overslept, not waking up until 8:30, but time seemed to slow down and I managed to get into my classroom at 9:00 even though it that couldn't have been possible.

At the time, I just brushed them away as odd coincidences or misunderstandings. Did my best to forget them.

"What the hell, Granger?" Zoe suddenly screams in my face, interrupting my train of thought. "What was that?"

"I... I... Don't know," I respond, doing my best to contain my giggles. She's got twigs stuck in her hair and looks absolutely manic - and it's hilarious.

David walks towards me threateningly, followed by a couple of cronies, and my grin fades. "Why weren't they going for you too? TELL US, YOU FREAK!" he yells in my face.

I shrink against the wall, all fear returning. They're really going to beat me up this time.

"OBLIVIATE!" a shout from the middle of the playground startles me, followed by a flash of green light. The other kids turn around to where the noise came from, but before they can say anything, they fall to the ground simultaneously, all in a dead faint. Looking up, I see the owner of the voice is coming towards me; a woman with long black robes, a pointed hat and grey hair pulled into a tight bun, who appears to have come out of nowhere. She looks shocked and appears to be muttering to herself.

"How could anyone produce spells like that with no wand and no training? I wouldn't have thought it possible!" I hear her say quietly. She reaches me; she is at least double my height and appears to be brandishing something like a weapon.

"Hermione Granger?" she asks me stiffly. I nod tentatively. "Ah. I was wondering when I'd be called here."

"Please... I didn't mean to do anything. I don't know how it happened. Are they going to be ok?" I stutter nervously, tears beginning to fill my eyes. I'm can tell I'm in trouble. _She's come to take me out of school and lock me up for sure._ _Oh God..._

"Of course they will, you haven't hurt them. I have merely cast a memory charm over them - they will awaken in a few minutes with no recollection of today's events," she reassures me. "And, no, I have not come to scold you. I have come to tell you that your place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been confirmed, and to give you your information about the next term. My name is Professor McGonagall and I teach transfiguration at the school."

I stay silent for a good few moments before I manage to choke out the word: "Wh-what?"

It's too much information to take in at once. I can't handle it. _A memory charm? Transfiguration? Hogwarts School of WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY?_

"You're muggle born, aren't you?" Professor McGonagall notices my blank expression and adds "I mean; your parents can't do magic can they?"

 _Magic..?_

"Um... not that I know of. So what I just did was... magic?" I ask, completely bewildered.

"Yes. And I must say, very advanced magic, especially for your age. You don't even have a wand, and you've never been taught anything. Astonishing..." she trails off, looking positively blown away. I can't help but smile a little at the compliment, despite my confusion.

"But... how can magic exist? It's not possible..." I say, looking up at Professor McGonagall, hoping for some kind of answer that I can comprehend.

"I understand that this is a lot to take in. It may be easier for me to explain all this in more detail at your own house. Anyway, I need to talk to your parents about the school so that they understand as well," she replies. Just as she says this the other students begin to stir. "We must hurry. Take my arm."

There isn't time to question it; they're almost awake now. I take her outstretched arm. Professor McGonagall closes her grey eyes and makes a 360 degree turn clockwise. I feel a sudden jerk around my navel and my head begins to spin into oblivion.


	5. Potential

_3rd Person P.O.V_

"Ah, Professor McGonagall," Professor Flitwick greeted her as she climbed out of the staff room fire grate, brushing soot off her robes.

"Good evening," Professor McGonagall smiled at him and the rest of the teachers, who were sat at tables marking work or planning lessons. She took a seat in one of the arm chairs, picking up a copy of the Daily Prophet. She had travelled back from Diagon Alley by Floo Powder after visiting the Granger's home to speak to them about Hogwarts, and was now exhausted.

"How were the muggles?" asked Professor Sprout.

"Well, it took a while to explain everything to them, but that's hardly surprising. Magic is a strange concept to those who have not grown up with it, in the same way that what they call electricity is strange to us. But they are fine for Hermione to attend Hogwarts."

"And Miss Granger herself? Did she cause much damage?" a snide voice queried from the corner of the staff room.

Professor McGonagall sighed, lowering her newspaper and looking over at Professor Snape, who was frowning disapprovingly.

"No, Severus, she hasn't caused any damage," she said curtly.

"But I heard she had caused chaos in her school with some kind of transfiguration spell," he continued. "She sounds like a trouble maker to me."

"She's an eleven-year-old witch. She can't control her magic properly, no child can at that age. And I would have said that she was anything but a trouble maker; in fact, I was astounded at the level of magic she was producing, despite not even owning a wand or spell book," responded Professor McGonagall thoughtfully.

Whilst speaking to Hermione after the incident at school, it had become apparent to Professor McGonagall that she was an extremely intelligent girl - top of her class in every academic subject. She had also appeared very eager to learn more about the magic world and the classes that Hogwarts offered.

"Whatever she was doing, it was not impressive. You cannot judge her intelligence or magical ability by what she makes happen accidentally. And, in any case, how much can we expect from a muggle born?" Professor Snape chided.

A silence fell across the room; the other Professors glared at Snape, horrified by his judgemental and discriminative way of thinking.

"Very well, Severus," said Professor McGonagall after a few moments, turning back to her newspaper. "You may not be impressed but I stand by what I saw. I see potential in Miss Granger. Mark my words, she will be one of the most talented students this school has ever had."


	6. A Childish Pinky-Promise

**Thank you for being so patient, guys. Sorry this has taken me so long. I cannot guarantee that there will be regular updates to this story, however, I will try my best to bring it to some kind of conclusion soon.**

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"Hermione? Can I come in?"

"One second, Mum!" I call back, having heard my Mum's calls from the other side of my bedroom door. I adjust myself into a more comfortable position on my bed, and hurriedly flip over the page of the book I am reading - though I have not yet been to Diagon Alley to buy the things listed in my Hogwarts letter (which was given to me directly by Professor McGonagall, after the whole incident at school), I was allowed to borrow a textbook of Professor McGonagall's, entitled _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_. As it is now July, meaning I have finally finished my last term of primary school and am on my summer holidays, I have spent many hours poring over the book.

 _'Levitation_

 _Levitation, or to put it more simply, the ability to make objects fly, is one of a wizard's most rudimentary skills. Though there are several different types of levitation charm, the most simple and well-known spell is Wingardium Leviosa (Wi-ng-Ar-dIum Levi-O-sa).'_

My eyes move quickly over the page, landing on the small diagram at the bottom of the wrinkled parchment, which shows the appropriate wand movements needed to use the spell. Picking up an old paint brush from under my bed, I attempt to copy the _swish and flick_ motions described in the book.

"Wingardium Leviosa... Wingardium Leviosa..." I mutter quietly, entranced in the movements and the words. They sound so foreign, yet, at the same time, they also feel... right. It feels right for me to be saying them. Like this is what I am supposed to be doing, even though I have never even used a wand. It's strange.

There comes another knock at the door, and I snap out of my weird trance, quickly shoving the paint brush under my bed covers and closing the book. "Sorry. Come in."

My Mum enters, smiling at me. "I was wondering if you'd like to help me cook dinner tonight?"

"Sure," I respond. "Let me just put this away."

"Is that the book Professor Mag... Mc..." She struggles to remember the name of the eccentric-looking teacher with the pointed hat, who visited our house a few weeks ago.

"Professor McGonagall," I provide, not unkindly. "Yes, it's hers."

My mother reaches out her hand. "May I have a look?"

"Of course!"

I stand up and hand her the spell book, watching as she flicks through the pages with wide eyes. While she is reading, I take the time to sort out my bed, tidying up my room a bit.

"Well, all this really is extraordinary..." says Mum, trailing off a little.

I laugh. "It is."

Once I've finished tidying, I glance back up at my mother, ready to go downstairs. But I hesitate when I see a sad expression on her face.

"Mum?"

She looks up from the book, plastering on a fake smile. "Yes, dear?"

"What's wrong?" I ask tentatively.

"Oh, it's nothing, love..." Mum begins, but she sighs reluctantly as I give her a 'you don't fool me' look. "It's just... This is all happening so fast. And of course I'm proud of you, and I will be whatever you choose to do in your life. It's just a shame that there's no chance of you going into the family business, or even to St. Paul's School. You would've done brilliantly there, it seemed like the right school for you. Your father and I, we know nothing about this Hogwarts place. What if you're not happy there?"

I open my mouth to say something, but am unable to think of a response immediately. Silence falls over us, as neither of us knows what to say.

"I'm sorry," I begin, feeling guilt form in the pit of my stomach. I hate seeing Mum upset like this.

She looks up at me. "You don't need to apologise for anything, sweetheart, you've done nothing wrong. But... I just keep thinking... what if you forget us? With your new life and all, you'll grow up there and won't want to stay around here once you've finished your education. I don't want to lose you."

"Oh, Mum..."

I rush to her, hugging her tightly. "I'll never, ever forget about you and Dad. I'll be back home for the holidays, and even if I don't stay here later on in life, I'll always visit. I'll write you letters, and they'll arrive by owl!" I say excitedly, remembering what Professor McGonagall told me.

Mum laughs. "That does sound fun."

"And, who knows, maybe I will go into the family business in some way. I mean, I've never heard of dentistry in the wizarding world, but maybe that means there's a gap in the market that I could fill," I add, grinning.

She giggles again. "Maybe you will. But remember, it's up to you what you do, ok? Not us, not your teachers - you decide what's right for you. Promise me that?"

I entangle my little finger in hers, in a childish pinky-promise. "Yes, Mum. Now, shall we go and cook?"

"That sounds lovely."

With a final kiss planted on the top of my head, we leave the room, and head downstairs to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal.


	7. Diagon Alley

**Over 3,800 views - that's insane. This story went up by 1,000 views in just under two days when I posted chapter 6 in July. Thank you all so much for reading.**

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Brushing my brown locks out of my eyes, I finally allow myself a glance at my reflection in the elegant mirror that stands a few feet in front of me; I smile shyly, and watch as the girl in the glass does the same thing, dimples appearing on her rosy cheeks. My fingers tentatively trace the soft black fabric of the robes I am trying on, before moving up to straighten the black tie around my neck.

"Ah, these should do well!" Madam Malkin says brightly, standing up straight, as she has been knelt by my side with a measuring tape checking the sizing of the robes. All of a sudden, said measuring tape (which had been left lying on the floor) levitates into the air, wrapping around itself until it forms a tight little ball, before floating onto a shelf and slotting itself neatly between two books.

"Wow..." I breathe. Every aspect of magic still startles and excites me. Upon my arrival into Diagon Alley, I came across many things beyond my wildest fantasies. In fact, over the last month, I've found myself stopping what I am doing occasionally just to remind myself that all of _this_ isn't simply a dream, and that I wouldn't soon awaken from a long slumber to realise none of this is real. This is real, though it doesn't feel as though it truly is.

Madam Malkin chuckles as she gathers up discarded items of clothing from the floor and hangs them up on a rack by the mirror. "I suppose this is all very strange for you, isn't it?"

I blush, embarrassed, and my response is barely audible. "Yes. Strange."

"You'll get used to it with time, my dear." Madam Malkin smiles kindly at me, then moves over to the till and begins to put the skirt, shirt and jumper that I tried on earlier into a bag. I slip off my new robes, carefully folding them, taking great care to smooth out any creases that form.

Once I've paid for my new uniform, I head out of the shop, waving goodbye to Madame Malkin and pulling my letter, containing my list of necessary equipment for my lessons this year, out of my pocket. All that's left for me to purchase is a wand. It's not long before I spot the wand shop, Ollivander's, a couple of doors down from Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

The golden bell tinkles above my head as I enter, carefully closing the door behind me. The shop is old-fashioned-looking, though well-kept and clean, with a strong smell of pine wood in it.

"Good afternoon."

The voice seems to come out of nowhere, but after a few moments, an elderly man (who I'm guessing is Mr Ollivander himself) appears from what looks like a storage cupboard near the back of the shop, coming over to the counter. His white hair sticks out in wisps around his face, making him look eccentric. He gives me a smile, which I return.

"Hello, sir," I say politely.

"First year at Hogwarts, eh? Judging by the fact that you're alone, I'd imagine that you are also muggle born. Is that correct?"

"Oh, er... Yes."

Maybe Mr Ollivander can sense the worry in my tone, because he quickly says: "Don't seem so afraid, my dear. It is nothing to be concerning yourself with. None of us can help what family we are born into, and being muggle born does not determine how good of a witch you will be, do you understand?"

I nod. Mr Ollivander smiles once more, before returning into his storage cupboard, emerging almost a minute later with a long, cuboid-shaped box. He removes the lid, carefully lifting out a wand - _an actual magic wand!_ a voice inside my head cries excitedly, though I try to contain myself.

"10 and 3-quarter inches. Vine wood. Dragon heartstring core." He passes it to me across the counter. "Give it a wave," he prompts, after a few moments of me simply holding it in my hand.

 _Swish and flick,_ I think to myself as I clear my throat nervously.

"Wingardium leviosa," I mutter, pointing the wand at the empty box on the counter and performing the movements as I speak. It starts to lift off the table, slowly climbing up, up, up into the air.

 _I'm... I'm doing it. I'm actually doing magic!_

"Dear Lord!" Mr Ollivander exclaims. I instantly lose focus, and the box clatters back down onto the counter.

"Sorry!" I say hurriedly. "Should I not have done that? Did I say the words in the wrong way?"

"No, no, dear, nothing was wrong... That was perfect. Not once, in my twenty years of working here, have I come across an eleven-year-old, one who has not even begun their magical training, able to produce a spell like that! You must be an intelligent young woman."

I am too lost for words to thank him for his compliment.

"That wand appears perfect for you, as well. It responded well to your commands."

I hand over what's left of my wizard money, watching Mr Ollivander as he counts my change, before taking the wand from me and putting it back into its box, still looking slightly bewildered.

"There you go." He passes me the wand in a brown paper bag. "Mark, my words, Miss..."

"Oh, Granger, sir."

"Miss Granger, mark my words, you will do great things. You are destined to be an extremely powerful witch, with incredible abilities."

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 **The next chapter will probably take a while to be published, but I'll try to get it up as soon as I can.**


	8. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

**Accidental hiatus again - sorry!** **However, I have finally come up with an ending to this story. Chapter 8 will be the penultimate chapter, and chapter 9 will be posted by August this year.**

 **Hope this doesn't disappoint!**

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I walk briskly along the train station platform, desperately trying to keep my nervous excitement under control. Every now and then, it just hits me - _I am a witch. I am going to a magical school in order to learn to do magic. This is real. All of it is real. All those times I thought I was a freak... I am not a freak. I am a witch._ \- and a burst of laughter erupts from me. I catch sight of a man with a suitcase, who's looking at me with disdain. My response is simply a smile, which seems to anger him further. I don't care.

"Do you want me to take that, pet?" my father asks, pointing at the trolley I'm pushing - I've been up on tip-toes, struggling to see over my enormous trunk.

"Oh... yes, please, Dad," I reply, passing the trolley over to him. He plants a quick kiss on the top of my head, before taking it.

I look around, searching for the platform that's been specified on my ticket - platform Nine and Three-Quarters. It seems a funny name for a train station platform - then again, when I'd discovered that I'd be travelling to magic school on a train, I was a little disappointed. Although I did hear a young wizard in Diagon Alley talking about flying on a broomstick... that sounds more like it!

Finally, after nearly ten minutes of looking, I give a half-grunt, half-sigh of frustration, turning to my parents. "I can't find it!"

"It's ok, Hermione, we'll find it somehow..." my Mum begins to soothe, but I interrupt.

"How on earth am I going to be able to make them take me seriously if I can't even find the platform?!" I cry.

"Excuse me?"

I turn and find myself face-to-face with a boy, who looks about my age. He has sandy blonde hair, hazel eyes, and freckles dotted around his nose. He too has a large trunk on a trolley that he's pushing, as well as (I do a double take) an OWL in a cage.

"I couldn't help over hearing you..." He has a soft Irish accent. "... do you want some help getting onto the platform?"

I stare for a moment. "Are you... are you a...?"

He grins. "Yeah. Come on, I'll get you there."

My parents and I follow him over to a wall, one of those that separates platforms nine and ten. "Don't even think about it, just walk into it and you'll go right through," the boy says simply.

"What?" I laugh nervously.

"Go on, you'll be fine!" he says.

I throw my parents a bewildered glance, before beginning to walk at the wall. It's coming closer and closer, though I continue, only closing my eyes at the very last minute...

When I finally open my eyes, I am no longer in the Kings Cross Station that I know. Hundreds of children are walking around, saying goodbye to their parents and loading their trunks onto a magnificent scarlet steam engine.

"Wow..." I sigh.

I'm soon joined by my parents, who look fairly shaken up, and the Irish boy.

"See? Told you," he says teasingly, before offering his hand. "I'm Seamus."

I grin too, shaking it. "Hermione."

"Seamus! There you are, stupid boy, I've been looking for you everywhere!"

A woman who must be at least six foot in height and is wearing a long black set of robes, as well as a pointed witch's hat similar to that of Professor McGonagall, approaches us. She has the same hair and freckles as Seamus, though she also has a rather formidable look on her face.

"Oh! Hello there." Her dangerous expression is soon replaced by a curious one. "I don't believe we've met. Mrs Finnigan, Seamus' mother."

I shake her hand as well. "Pleased to meet you. Hermione Granger."

Mrs Finnigan frowns. "Granger... no, doesn't ring a bell. Muggle born, I presume?" she asks, gesturing to my parents, who look more out of place than ever in their normal clothes.

"Yes," I reply, my smile faltering a little. Despite what Mr Ollivander said in Diagon Alley a month ago, I'm still a little self-conscious about my blood status.

"Don't you think on it. Your performance at Hogwarts has nothing to do with your blood status," Mrs Finnigan says sternly but kindly, before turning to Seamus. "You been helping her find the platform, then?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, mam."

She plants a kiss on his forehead, making him squirm away from her, embarrassed. "Good boy."

The clock hanging above our heads chimes. It's 10:55. I say a quick goodbye to Mrs Finnigan and Seamus, before quickly making my way over to my parents, who are handing my trunk over to one of the porters.

"Well, then..." Mum says, taking my hands. "I guess this is it. Until Christmas, that is."

I can feel tears behind my eyes, though I blink them away, trying my very best to be strong.

Dad's hand is suddenly there, rubbing my back gently. "We want you to know, we... we're both very proud of you. We know it was never easy for you at your old school, but we hope you can find some friends at this one."

I turn round, grabbing him in a hug. His chin rubs on my shoulder, staining the sleeve of my t-shirt with tears. Mum joins in, wrapping her arms around us.

"We love you," she whispers, voice choked with tears.

I untangle myself from the two of them, turning to her and taking her face in my hands. "I love you too." I tilt my head a little, so I'm looking at Dad as well. "Both of you."

The guard blows his whistle. Most of the other kids are on the train already.

"I'd better go," I say, giving Mum a final kiss on the cheek before leaving her in Dad's arms.

I walk over to the train and up the steps onto it, closing the door behind me. The whistle blows again, and with that, the engine jolts into action, moving steadily away from the platform. As we collect speed, I stick my head out of the window and spot my parents - both of them are tearfully waving me away. I wave back.

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 **Decided to go with Seamus' (and Mrs Finnigan's) book hair colour rather than the film's**

 **Quick thank you to Cuthbert72 for noticing my mistakes regarding the train's various staff :D**


	9. The Hogwarts Express

Once my parents are mere specks in the distance, I begin to make my way down the corridor of the train, snaking around the other pupils. Many old friends are greeting each other between compartments, some hugging, others showing off their tans from wherever they went on holiday. I manage to catch snippets of some of their conversations:

 _"Oh yeah, mum and I were in Greece this year, we went to one of those Wood Nymph zoos. They're sooo cute."_

 _"We went to the Quidditch World Cup in August. The Final was rubbish though - it only took about 5 minutes before Ariel Singleton got the snitch."_

 _"Have you seen Terry? My Niffler, I can't find him anywhere..."_

 _"Ah! He's trying to steal my necklace - get him off!"_

I turn my head to look as several students try desperately to grab Terry - a creature that reminds me of a platypus covered in midnight-blue fur - who is climbing around some poor girl's head with the silver chain of her necklace grasped tightly in his paw.

 _"Stay still, Josie, I can't catch him..."_

As I'm still walking with my neck craned in the opposite direction to where I'm going, I walk quite literally headfirst into the back of another pupil.

"Oh, my goodness, I'm so sorry," I breathe, not looking up at them as I struggle to my feet. A hand reaches down to me, and I take it gratefully, hoisting myself back up.

"Are you alright?" Two voices ask in perfect unison. I glance up at them timidly; two identical boys, probably around 13 or 14 in age. They're both fairly tall and have heads of flaming ginger hair.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, thanks... Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going," I mutter, feeling heat in my cheeks.

"Don't worry about it," the one on the left grins. The twins (I presume) then flatten against the wall of the train.

"Go on, go through," says the other, also with a smile. I awkwardly make my way past them and continue on down the train, only just able to hear the added call of: "Watch out for Lee Jordan's tarantula!"

When I finally find an empty compartment, my trunk is already there waiting for me. My mind briefly wonders how, before I push the question out of my head with a simple answer - magic. The first thing I do is fish my uniform out of it, and find a toilet to get changed in. I pull on the grey skirt, tights, white shirt, jumper and the silky black robes. The last thing is the tie, which is also black satin, though I was told by Madame Malkin that it won't stay black forever; tonight at the Sorting Ceremony, I'll be put into one of the four school houses - Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Slytherin - and the tie will change to match the house's colours. Having read about them in one of my books, _Hogwarts, A History_ , I've decided that Gryffindor sounds the best by far. It's where those who are courageous end up. Though, Ravenclaw does sound more like where I'd go - the witty and intelligent.

I head back to my compartment, stuff my normal (muggle) clothes into my trunk and sit down with a book. As I'm reading, I find it hard to concentrate - my imagination is flying with ideas about what the school will be like, what it'll be like to learn all about magic, how to make potions and do spells. I shake my head and try to focus on the book, _A History of Magical Warfare_. It wasn't on the booklist, I merely found it fascinating.

 _His name is unspeakable for those who have lived through the fear and destruction that he has caused. Many refer to him only as You-Know-Who. His ideologies about only teaching magic to those who were Pure-Blood date back to the very beginning of Hogwarts, when Salazar Slytherin was one of the founders. However, he was stopped - and by a baby, no less. A young boy named Harry Potter, whose parents were both killed by You-Know-Who, managed somehow to survive the killing curse. He is left only with a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead..._

"Trevor? Trevor! Come here, Trevor! Oh, pleeeease don't be lost, Gran will kill me!"

I glance up from the book, before folding the corner of the page I'm up to and getting up from my seat. Upon opening the door, I find a boy outside my compartment on his hands and knees, clearly looking for something - or, rather, someone.

"Um... Can I help you?" I ask.

The boy jumps and stands up, brushing his hands off on his new school trousers. He's not much taller than me, and has a round, nervous-looking face. "S-sorry, I'm just looking for my pet toad, Trevor. Have you seen him?"

"No, I haven't, sorry," I reply. "I could help you look for him, if you like?"

His face lights up a little. "If you don't mind."

"Of course not," I smile, extending my hand. "Hermione."

He shakes it. "Neville."

We split up in our quest to find Trevor. I walk down the corridor of the train, calling out his name, but to no avail. As I'm walking between compartments, I catch glimpses of different students - some are in their uniforms, their coloured ties on, whereas others are clearly first years. I see Seamus Finnigan, chatting to a kid with dark hair and skin; Seamus gives me a fleeting smile as I pass, which I return. There's also a boy with sleeked-back blonde hair talking to two others; they're wearing their black ties, but it's obvious by the loud conversation they're having which house they want to be in. Slytherin. I think back to what I read not five minutes ago about the founder of the house, before quickly moving along to the next compartment.

As I look into this one, I do a double take. Sat right there in front of me, talking to another pupil, is Harry Potter. The clothes he's wearing are far too big for him - a shirt and pair of trousers at least three sizes too large - and he has a pair of slightly damaged round glasses pushed up his nose, a messy black mop of hair on his head. But there's no mistaking the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. The boy he's talking to is the opposite of him in terms of appearance; tall, wearing jeans and a jumper that cling to his ankles and wrists, with freckles around his nose. He has the same ginger hair as I saw on the twins earlier this morning. A thought enters my mind, though I hurriedly try to push it out of my head - _he's rather cute_.

There are sweet wrappers all around the two, presumably from when the kindly old trolley-witch came around asking who wanted something. They're sitting side by side, talking. Then, the (cute) ginger boy gets out a wand, and begins to raise it, about to utter a spell of some sort. I choose that moment to interrupt. Sliding the compartment door open, I walk in. Both boys look up at me curiously.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."

* * *

 **I went back and forth on ending the story at this point, but eventually decided to do so. However, if you'd like to see a little more about Hermione's early life at Hogwarts (ie. her relationship with Harry and Ron being bad at the beginning, her getting bullied, etc - it would only go up until the troll situation when she, Ron and Harry became friends), please let me know, and I will try to get a short sequel out this year.**

 **Thank you all so much for reading, favouriting, following and reviewing :)**


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